


I wanted to be a knight

by ARMEN15



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arya's List, Badass!Arya, Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, F/M, Faceless Arya Stark, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Arya Stark, POV Jaime Lannister, Post-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, Pre-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, Rare Pairings, Reunions, The Long Night, The wine girl, Troubled!Jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMEN15/pseuds/ARMEN15
Summary: This should be read after my other work "A rich slaab of beef"https://archiveofourown.org/works/24699901/chapters/68766105I have always wondered why Arya was not witnessing Jaime's trial. Maybe because the wine girl.....The title is a quote from Arya in a confrontation with Sansa at Winterfell in sé8.For technical pc/software  reasons I cannot create a new series (believe me, I did try and contact assistance, with no result) and it is set in Winterfell along the timing of the long night.Thanks a lot to my dear BETA!I do hope you'll enjoy it.A. Comment Is welcomed.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Bran Stark, Arya Stark & Gendry Waters, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Jaime Lannister/Arya Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

Dark, stripped to the bone, useless, never ashamed, always proud.

Arya knows who has arrived in Winterfell, she’s heard whispers and murmurs from servants and soldiers, but she has refused to join her family and allies in the Great Hall, where the tables have been arranged on three sides, the fourth a row of soldiers ready to carry out the council’s decision regarding the man who has joined the North.

He has arrived alone, neither an army behind him, nor a group of skilled knights.

A great war is coming, and if the outcome is defeat it will be death for everyone, and if victory, there would be too many casualties to mourn. No one will restrain from fighting with all their strength, until their last breath, it’s a promise made with pride and confirmed with blood.

Arya is at home, in her refuge, surrounded by her family, its remains and its strongest part, Sansa and Jon and the unafraid Bran. Coming home has been sweet and bitter at the same time. Winterfell has changed, the siblings have grown too fast, parentless, young adults with the experience of old souls.

Jaime is in a hostile castle, obliged to face a trial to defend his right to fight for the living, for what is left of his honour, glory and house: his lover and their unborn child.

He clings to that hope, because another betrayal from Cersei would be too much, the ultimate disillusion that could blow away days spent on the road in the cold, pushing his horse faster and faster to reach the North before the battle starts.

He didn’t drink, piss, sleep, consumed by the frenzied fervour to arrive as soon as possible.

And when the castle is in full view, Jaime almost sheds tears; it is his first time there without the Lannister banners, only a humble black cloak and a tired black horse in their place.

Arya hides behind the open doors of the Great Hall. A lot of people are inside, some sat at the tables, others standing, curious to see the man alone in the middle, the man under trial.

Arya has kept herself at a distance from Jaime, she has caressed the idea of meeting him, again, in her ancestral home, surrounded by Stark symbols of honour and virtue, facing those who consider him only a Kingslayer, unable to keep a promise. But ever since Sansa had informed her of his presence, a feeling of uneasiness had captured her and she’s cautious not to reveal her presence.

Jamie stands calm and proud - he is not going to beg.

Arya had been in the same position, facing her surviving siblings, submitted to a test, Lord Baelish looking at her beside Sansa, his plan so close to fulfilment, his eyes gleaming in the cold light of winter days.

For a few minutes Arya had been unsure, thinking she and Sansa were facing each other from two opposite sides.

Winterfell was a treasured prize for both Stark sisters, what if each of them wanted to rule over to spite the other?

In the end it had just been a clever trick, to give Baelish a false sense of security before his demise.

Nevertheless, a chill runs along her back, she understands Jaime.

He is facing Sansa and Daenerys without an army, without an ally, without a reason to be trusted. Others were the Lannisters who tried to destroy the Starks, names heard by Arya inside that very hall.

Cersei, Joffrey, the impressive ghost of Tywin.

Not Jaime.

Arya has decided to remain hidden to prevent Sansa adding her to the jury; she cannot be fully objective towards the Lannister knight, the pendulum sways from Bran’s fall – so hard to accept, yet so necessary according to her brother - to the absolute need of the experienced Lord Commander.

Arya doesn’t want to remember his bare body over hers at the Twins, she’s buried their night of passion under layers of other memories, in a locked part of her brain.

Jaime's destiny and life are in the hands of the woman whose father he murdered; if he were another man, he’d be scared to death, but he has learned at a high price that impulses can be tamed.

Tyrion speaks for him, a brotherly love, pure and visceral like Arya’s for her siblings, not like the distorted way of the golden twins.

She touches Needle for reassurance, an automatic gesture, the dagger is warm and smooth and her fingers beat over it; she has killed Frey and Baelish with her sharp blade, but she doesn't want to kill Jaime, nor does she desire to see Jon or Davos do the deed themselves. She’ll wait until the last minute to come forward and vouch for him, in case things get bad.

“What are you doing?”

Sandor approaches her and Arya showes him away, the silence is thick inside the hall, only broken when Brienne starts speaking.

_“I have been forced to accept an alliance with the dragon queen, for Jon’s sake, considering the incoming threat. An alliance that probably won’t last.” Jon and I are warriors, Bran is a Greenseer, Sansa’s a ruler; for her the borders between enemies and allies are fluid, they can change shape and form._

_“I care about our family, I’d kill whoever tries to hurt a Stark, like I did with Baelish.” My sister learned a lot form Petyr, showing no mercy in letting me dispose of him._

_My list is quite complete, Cersei Lannister is the top name now._

_“You have been magnificent with the Freys, using a face, you can repeat it with Cersei. And whose face better than Jaime’s? She’d let you come very close.”_

_A shadow falls over her face, she is no longer the young girl who loved fairy tales. And I don’t like to remember who I was._

_I wish Sansa would stop, but no, she is determined. She wants Cersei more than me, she spent a long time in Kings Landing with the Queen, facing Joffrey’s cruelty and her forced marriage._

_“We’ve got him, the battle is dangerous, casualties can happen, a crippled fighter has less chance to survive.”_

_For now, we need every able man. Sansa is stubborn but clever, and Jaime is safe, few can use a sword like the golden lion, one handed as he may be._

_The idea of carving his skin, of cutting flesh and killing the sparkling of his eyes is unpleasant for me._

_I’ve had that face and that body in my own hands, in a way Sansa would never understand or allow after Ramsay. The battle is approaching, my blood is hot and alive; he’s still handsome, and thinking of him I can’t sleep well at night._

Jon leads Jamie reluctantly around the castle. There’s activity everywhere; soldiers and peasants train, Podrick and other squires sharpen swords and daggers. A lot of people look at the hilt of Widow’s wail, where gold and stones and symbols reveal that the weapon is made of the most precious steel.

They pass near the forge and Jaime stops suddenly; there Arya is, speaking with a young man who is bare chested, steel and fire and flames playing all around him. He’s sweating and cursing because the fire is not sufficient, he pushes the other blacksmiths to add more logs, drier, bigger, everything to rise the flames - he wants them to reach the roof, the smoke to leave through the chimney.

She shows the blacksmith a piece of paper, he grabs it and Arya’s hand too, and she lets him.

Jaime’s eyes are wide and Jon pushes his elbow to move on, but the Lannister wants to stay rooted on the spot and see, if Arya gets her hand free again, if the blacksmith moves closer, if Jon notices the duo.

Jaime recognises what he feels, the same he felt towards Lancel, Robert and everyone else who fucked Cersei. Robert was her husband, but she betrayed her twin with the others.

His pride had been fidelity, but he had stained that wow with Arya, before returning to Cersei and falling into her enchantment again, keeping secret his night with Arya, trying to forget it, because Cersei was mourning Tommen, in her way, and Jaime had been desperate and grieving, needing his other half all the more. Now there is a child on the way. His fourth.

During her first years of marriage with Robert, when she wanted her twin to impregnate her, she told Jaime things only maesters and midwifes knew about moons and women’s blood and herbs to favour a pregnancy. In his mind he had done all the calculations after she told him of the new babe; he’s sure it is his, but an insistent demon inside wants him to remember that Euron offered Cersei a marriage pact, and Jaime has doubts about the outcome of what the child’s surname will be.

It is his last hope and chance of being – not only becoming – a father.

A part of him wished to have another child, he expressed his desire to Cersei, after Tommen died, to have someone else to live for. She neither accepted nor refused, so he spilled inside her more than he had ever done, careless and free and every time praying the seed would catch. 

But she used Euron, another game of power, and Jaime went North, half to save her, half to save himself.

Jon has his precious Valyrian sword, Brienne’s got Oathkeeper, born from the ashes of Ned Stark's sword.

It is right that both halves of the original Ice are back in Winterfell; Ned’s ghost has called his swords to fight for the living.

Small, little, sharp, Arya’s needle is not Valyrian. Jon gifted it to his cousin - in his heart his sister, forever - her beloved weapon, made of good steel, not the best. She deserves a weapon like Brienne’s, but Arya’s too petite to wield a man’s sword. Nevertheless, speed’s her strength, flexibility her secret.

They pass along the crypt’s entrance.

“Women and children will hide there.” Jon points out. “Sansa asked your brother to join her. Tyrion’s not a good fighter, especially not here.”

“My brother’s devoted to lady Sansa.” Jon lets the comment pass without a reply. Stark sisters must stay away from Lannister brothers, his clenched jaw confesses.

“I wanted Arya with them but she vehemently refused and cursed in many languages. I got only the promise on all the dead Starks that she’d be up on the walls with Clegane.”

The old Jaime would have mocked Jon for his attachment to Arya - pretty sisters are men's undoing – but the new Jaime tries to imagine Jon’s reaction on discovering what he and Arya had shared at the Freys. 

And he wants to see Arya, to speak with her, but he cannot go searching for the young wolf.

Jaime hopes Arya will come to him and his heart increases its pace when she crosses his path inside the armoury, looking for Pod, holding another weapon; Jaime stands beside a huge closet to be hidden from her and observe.

Arya moves around the room, greeting everyone, a word of encouragement for each, until she is a standing a few steps from Jaime. “Lannister.”

She addresses him simply and lifts her new spear.

“Do you want to try it? I need practice, they are coming.” 

Before Jon can voice an objection, Arya leaves with Jaime following, attracted to her like the night to the moon. It is a madness, it is an illusion, an escape from his destiny.

_“I took him for a tour of Winterfell, to see the defense system. He’s now with ser Jorah.”_

_Dear Jon’s behaviour reveals that he would have preferred to face a hoard of enemies than walk with the Kingslayer, but he has to, the queen asked him._

_He saw you at the forge, he wanted to stop there._

_I felt eyes on me, I suspected it was him._

_“"He could, if he wanted to approach me.”_

_“I pressed to go up the inner walls. And you better stop talking with the blacksmith.”_

_Jon can’t tell me what to do, since he’s slept with the Queen he’s changed, less devoted to our family._

_“I ordered a weapon from Gendry and I speak with whoever I wish.”_

_My words come out harsher than I want, Jon stares at me._

_Please Jon, not like Sansa and her moral code and theories about propriety; if you are worried for my reputation, I’ve done things Mother and Father would consider disgraceful and totally unladylike. And I don’t care, your little sister has gone._

_“Whatever, I don’t trust the Lannisters, not Tyrion nor him. Brienne was too passionate. I bet he shared her bed. Clever way to wrap an ugly woman like her around your finger. You close your eyes and the deal is done.”_

_Just because your lover is young and beautiful, brother? The maid of Tarth is a skilled fighter, better than many knights. And bedding a woman isn’t always a way to enchant her._

_“Brienne thinks about duty only”._

_“We each have ours. Protect our home from enemies, destroy the Queen in the south.”_

_Cersei’s something I have to plan carefully, she is protected by her guards, by the Mountain, by her fortress._

_“I’ll take care of our own. Trust me.”_

_“You could use him to get close to the queen. The Kingslayer doesn’t deserve our respect, after what they did to Father and Sansa.”_

_“Bolton was worse. Tyrion has always been kind to Sansa.”_

_I hope he changes the subject, we’ll end up quarrelling and it’s a waste of precious time. I can use his face - how many times did I see Jaqen carving skin, then copied him? Old Walder was easy, his many wrinkles made my work fast, there was enough skin to allow me less precision._

ARYA holds the spear and Jaime lifts Widow’s wail.

It is a sparring with odd weapons but she’s never been a conventional fighter, she’s faced Brienne’s Oathkeeper with Needle, agility versus strength, Arya knows her abilities well.

The spear hits the sword, it’s well balanced, sharp when she passes too close to a sack of hay to attack his side; hay spills out from the cut.

He’s defending, not fighting, he uses his strength with prudence; Arya experiments the depth and intensity of his blows, she’s the ruler of the tempo. After a series of attempts to make him do the first move, she stops suddenly to decipher the man standing in front of her. She walks around him, his eyes are hollow, his mane and beard salt and pepper, the right shoulder is lower.

“What’s wrong?”

Tommen committed suicide, Cersei became queen, Jaime won battles, what else happened?

“Cersei didn’t want me to come here. She ordered the Mountain to kill me.”

Her jaw drops. Siblings, family, relatives. So sacred to her heart.

She may banter with Sansa, get bored by Bran or despise Jon’s lover, but her pack is too important: never would a Stark desire the death of another.

Jaime bends his head back, baring the delicate neck, then returns to Arya.

“She’s pregnant again. After Tommen the weight of their loss was all on me. She talked about vengeance and power all day. And now this child is my last chance.”

“And she dared to threaten you? Kill the babe’s father?”

“We are twisted and broken. She’s planning and plotting and I can’t bear it anymore. But the child… is innocent. I have to protect it.”

“That’s why you came here? I listened to your trial.”

“I didn’t see you there.”

“I was outside, in case….”

She stops, it is dangerous ground to reveal too much of herself. There’s a lot on her mind. A bell rings, the call for the council. They both leave.

_“Daenerys and Cersei will never find an agreement. If we survive, this battle won’t be the last.”_

_Bran’s eyes are so white he could be blind, for all I know; Jon says my brother’s visions haunt me, more than Sansa or Rickon, because I’m more a Northerner than all of them. And Jon, obviously, is half fire._

_“I fear this ordeal, brother, but if there is no hope…”_

_His hands reach for mine, his skin is cold and pale but I see, I feel the veins and the blood._

_“Trust me, Arya, I can see something other than darkness for a few people. Your Goldenhand asked me about the future, too. Are you so similar now?”_

_My cheeks flush pink, he knows, he’s discovered us and can tell Sansa or Jon, so they’ll be disappointed and despise him more than they already do. I can’t deny about Jaime with him._

_“Listen, you know who I’ve become, the things I’ve done.”_

_“The things you were meant to do, sister. Like all of us, and like him.”_

_“Jaime’s not a bad man.”_

_“He feels guilty.”_

_So he had confessed to Bran and pleaded forgiveness, there are many burdens on him, one for every line on his forehead. “_

_“The regrets are many, for all of us. You’re still full of remorse for not helping Father enough, and the Frey revenge has been good, but didn’t give us Mother and Robb back.”_

_“I’m tired of killing. I’d like a season of peace.”_

_“Maybe you will find a way.”_

_“Sansa and Jon want me to kill Jaime to get to Cersei.”_

_Bran’s grip tightens a little, he knows, Sansa and Jon have spoken with him._

_“Return to your master’s teachings, Arya, there you’ll find the answers you need.”_

Arya cares about Jamie and she cannot maim him to get to Cersei.

It is an awareness that can be seen as a defeat and wolves hate failures. She’s involved with lions, whether she likes it or not, and Tywin has taught her lessons that Ned would have despised, halted by Cat’s motto: family, honour, duty.

Lions and wolves can become more than enemies fighting for the same prey.

She searches for Jaime and finds him in the dining hall, alone. It is quite late for midday meal, he’s chosen the timing on purpose, after their spar he has disappeared.

“Are you avoiding me?” Arya stands beside the oak table, hands on her hips.

“I thought it was better.” Jaime lifts his head, he’s heard steps, smelled smoke and snow, her scent.

“No one forces you to stay.”

“I swore to help the living with my life. You spared me at the Freys, it is a debt I must pay.”

His sword is on the bench, she takes it, heavy and strong in her hand, to admire the savage beauty of the weapon, then returns it to Jamie and sits in front of him.

“I accept your oath. In Winterfell you are simply Ser Jaime, the knight, the best part of a man.”

“Do you really think there is something good in me?” Her trust is astonishing - should he confess to her what he did to the mad King?

“I would have not laid with you otherwise.” Half-truth, half lie, Arya read inside Jaime only when she took off the face.

But the smile of the wine girl is back, in the middle of death and danger, it is a precious sign of life; Jamie opens his heart and reveals to Arya the truth from the beginning. How Aerys wanted to kill and destroy a city in his rage and fury. She’s surprised, glad to have been right about him, full of righteous anger at the way he was branded.

“And they called you Kingslayer for saving people?”

“I betrayed my vows, I was only five and ten. Everyone wanted my head.”

“Including my father?”

He nods, Ned Stark stared at Jaime with disgust and repulsion when he saw the dead king in a pool of red under the throne.

“That’s why I wanted to see you one last time, if they planned to kill me, before Brienne vouched. At the same time I feared, I was ashamed of wanting you and being rejected.” 

“Because of Cersei?” 

How to explain that he is so messed up, torn between the mother of his children and the promise he’s just made over his sword?

“Come.”

Arya leaves the room, down the stairs, past the inner court; it’s snowing again, her steps silenced by the white cover. People find shelters under roofs and canopies tettoie, Arya goes up stone stairs, then a covered alley and disappears across an arch, leading to a part of the castle with stone walls.

Jaime follows, she knows he’s behind her, she is sure he turns the corners she turns, that he passes through the threshold she passes through. She doesn’t look back but she feels his steps and the warmth of his breath.

In the heart of the castle, loosing reference points, not knowing where she is leading him, it’s a matter of trust, again, and she knows about Bran and Aerys, this time, and that Cersei betrayed her words and he wants to keep his own. She could lead him to a dark cell and kill him or lock him up to rot forgotten by everyone and he won’t care, he’s under her spell like at the Freys.

Eventually she takes a torch from a wall and opens the door of a huge room, with windows facing west, towards the pale sun and Jaime sees it is bare, deprived of furniture except a small table, three stools, two chairs and a curtain half hanging from one of the windows.

“It was our play room as children.” She explains, her voice doesn’t betray emotions, she’s cold stone, she’s steel and ice. With the torch she produces flames using a pile of old dry wood beside the fireplace.

“I liked what we did at the Freys, I told you it could happen again.”

“I’d be glad, little wolf.”

She casts a charged glance at Jamie who briefly nods. The wine girl is pleased. Arya lets her slide under her skin; Jaqen explained the last mask you wear will remain in you for a while, but he never said for how long or how much.

Arya goes to the door to lock it then opens a chest to retrieve four velvet cushions, once dark blue, now worn out and faded.

“They’ll be here soon, it’s our last chance.”

She throws the cushions on the floor and grabs a cloak from a chair.

“Dusty, but it will suffice.”

Jaime nods, the fire helps a little, the room is cold, abandoned, no young Starks play there anymore; Robb’s child was killed before being born, and he’d maimed Bran for life.

Winterfell is full of soldiers and peasants, every corner is crowded. Here they have privacy.

Arya takes her boots and fur trimmed jerkin off, Jaime follows, eyes fixed on her, the first time he can admire her.

The wine girl had more curves than the real Arya, whose well toned body, small breasts and flat belly are the opposite of Cersei’s voluptuous figure.

Arya, fresh and strong, is unafraid of taking what she wants: Jaime feels privileged to be desired by a true wolf.

She is something new, unstained by the ups and downs of his twisted bond with Cersei, she offers him freedom to be alive, to be a man and not the missing half of an imperfect whole.

Arya gets rid of her breeches and opens her smallclothes, unties the thin dagger strapped to her calf, then approaches Jaime, to help him. The cold doesn’t allow for her to be fully naked, but she opens her tunic enough for his hands to caress her breasts, both relieved to be close again.

She goes on tiptoes and kisses him, mouths crashing hard, tongues dancing and Jaime’s arms around her back, remembering the contours and finding again the black pimple at waist level.

With his tunic off, he’s bare chested and Arya takes a step back to admire him.

The muscles are still strong, his hair was probably darker their first time; he’s got a new scar on his right shoulder, from battles or trainings she doesn’t care.

He pushes her down, she kneels on the cushions, tugging at his breeches; he’s hard and hot under the fabric and she decides to try and touch him.

He groans, a rare occurrence to be pleasured, a gift Cersei seldom performed.

The wine girl knew what to do, Arya watched Braavosi whores use hands and mouth, so when she experimentally runs her tongue on his cockhead, his hand caresses her hair; Jaime gasps, a wave of boldness makes Arya take him in her mouth. He encourages her to move, it’s her first attempt, tongue helps, teeth hurt, as he complains with a sudden moan when they graze the sensitive skin. His hips are in sync with Arya’s hands and she sucks deeper, finding it hard to breathe.

Jaime likes her eagerness, it is natural, like with young Cersei, before sex too often become a way to control him.

His thighs tremble, she thinks he’s close and suddenly he asks her to stop.

“I want to be inside you, please.” His hand cups her face, she’s so good, and he wants to be good to her, too.

He lowers himself to embrace Arya and his cock is warm and wet against her stomach as he kisses her again and tastes his own flesh in her mouth.

“I’ve never tried...” A kiss to silence her, there is no time to talk about past experiences.

“I know. I’ve been your first, with or without blood.”

She nods, she’s got a little help from the wine girl memories, but he has realised she was a sort of maiden.

It is comfortable to repeat the act with the same man, whatever may happen in the incoming battle.

He’s got a child to live for, she’s got her pack to protect, chances are few, but both hope to survive.

Arya leans back on the cushions, looking at him, kneeled above her, half covered by the cloak for warmth, taking off the golden hand that falls with a thud on the wooden floor.

She grabs the stump, pulling Jaime down; his eyes burn, the idea of being touched where he is incomplete, the part of him Cersei hates while Arya respects – surely Brienne has told her the reason for him loosing a hand – is refreshing, he’s alive, they both are alive and no white walkers, no army of the dead, can deny them this moment.

“I’m unworthy, but I do want you.”

“Come here.”

Jaime covers her, kisses her mouth, her face, her neck, making her gasp in anticipation. His hand descends from her shoulders and she flinches at the touch - there is a knife hidden in her sleeve.

His face show amusement, and she blinks at him.

“Are there other surprises?”

A large smile and Arya wants to laugh and be serious at the same time.

“Not now, but I wear more usually.”

With patrols to send off, evening reports to receive, recruits to teach, Jaime thinks they are lucky if they have half an hour for themselves.

Her legs are open and when he probes with his fingers she’s ready.

“I want to feel everything. Don’t pull out. I’ll take moon tea.”

The idea of letting himself go completely, not thinking about risks and consequences, makes him even readier. Her hips searches his, it is easy to slide inside her, she’s wanton, this desperate waiting burns inside her belly.

They stop, observing each other; Jaime shuts his eyes tight for the blissful sensation, if only time could stop and let them forget the incoming danger.

A wild desperation captures the lovers, it could be their last time together, but also their last time ever.

It is a strange familiarity for Jaime, this second time, not Cersei’s body, a mirror of his own, but a repetition of a scene already played. The details resurface from memory, her frame lither than his, how to bend his neck to kiss her comfortably, the way Arya prefers her foot flat on the cushions to steady herself when he thrusts.

Arya clings to his shoulders, raising her upper body, she needs contact, skin on skin and beat on beat. Jaime’s blood is hot, he’s ardent like in his youth, his movements are frantic and he comes following her release.

For a few seconds he crushes her and when he lifts himself on his elbows and grabs the cloak better – a sudden chill now his body is relaxed – she’s breathing hard and her legs are rigid like trunks.

“Whatever happens, I’m glad we did it again.”

She nods, words aren’t important for now. Jaime cleans their private parts with the hem of the cloak, because there is nothing else to use, and caresses her marble chest one last time before pulling he laces of her tunic to close it.

“If we survive, I must return to the capital, you know.”

Arya is aware, at present the future is a liability more than an asset, and he is bound with an invisible string to Cersei. His eyes tells of a different desire, but the call of duty silences the temptation.

“Back to her.”

“She’s playing with Euron Greyjoy. He wants to marry Cersei, but I can’t abandon my child this time.”

“There’s no need to explain….”

“If I am denied to be a father again, I’ll be an uncle, a knight, a sworn shield. Anything to be close to the babe.”

She glimpses a tear in his eyes; for the child’s sake he’ll accept whatever decision from Cersei and give up his chance of fatherhood, he’ll live again in shadow behind the throne.

It’s the final confirmation that Arya cannot use Jaime’s face. Her Masters would see it as proof that she wasn’t meant to be admitted into the order, but Arya can’t kill the man lying beside her, the man who put his life in the hands of the North and resigned himself to his fate.

“Your sister hurt my family.”

“And you’ve got a revenge list that includes Cersei. Like the Freys. I wish things were different, but I understand your plan.”

“I won’t harm your child. An innocent’s life.”

Arya fastens her breeches, puts her boots on and collects her weapon.

“I’ll wait for you on the training yard, I’m not ashamed to be seen with you.”

Jaime agrees, grabbing his sword: he’s made an oath, now he needs a promise.

“If something happens to me, give Widow’s Wail to Tyrion, so he can pass it to my child.”

Arya briefly closes her eyes, she can’t allow herself to cry, not today, not with the battle so close.

“I swear it. Watch your back, Lannister.”

“Brienne will be close to me, you’ve got Sandor.”

For a moment she is just a young woman, too small for the tasks she is asked to perform.

“I’m afraid, Jaime.”

She seldom uses his name, it is an intimate confession, even more so than the last act shared.

“Me too. This is something beyond our knowledge, our control. Dragonglass and Valyrian weapons…”

“I’ve fought many battles and this is the first that really scares me.”

As Arya leaves the room, Jaime observes her posture; back rigid, head high. She will not show fear.

_Can’t breathe._

_Can’t move a finger._

_Tiredness envelopes me and this bench is the only available place to rest after we won._

_We did it. All together._

_I’m getting too old for fighting, my good arm is numb after swinging Widow’s Wail all night._

_Dead, wounded, fire and blood. I close my eyes and see it all over again, from the first attack to her desperate move on the Night King._

_Arya did it._

_Running down from the walls, out from a hole I bet only she remembers, she appears beside Brienne._

_“Leave, Arya! Leave!”_

_She has promised me to be the last defender of the inner court._

_She kills two walkers, many more approach, she pants for the effort._

_There are too many for a petite warrior. I do a circle around her, cut through rotten bodies, and she turns and disappears toward the Godswood trail._

_“Bran is there!”_

_She shouts back at us, Brienne wants to follow, but we’re outnumbered, we can barely protect the trail to give her time, falling, dying.... until a wolf’s cry breaks the clash of swords, the enemy dissolves and I go on my knees and wake up here. Empty. Tired. Eyelids heavy, not caring about the confusion of maesters and servants attending to the injured soldiers._

_There are no wounds on me, except for bruises and a painful rib with every deep breath. The bench is comfortable for how worn out I am; the beds are for the wounded that can survive, the pavement for those whose fate is written._

_Someone stands beside me, and my eyes open, a thin line, she’s here covered in sweat and dirt. Few words we need, we paid each other’s debts, saved our lives and she’s magnificent for having slaughtered blackness and death. She holds my golden hand, lost somewhere in the night, cleans the mud from it with her sleeve._

_“You will need it to hold the reins.”_

_“Thanks.” My eyes meet hers briefly while I fasten my hand back into place._

_“You kept your promise. Leave soon, the Queen is going to march south.”_


	2. Chapter 2

This is the last installment for this work, unfortunately I cannot make a series (I have mailed many times the assistance but I had too many bad news during last months) and I do not intend to make this work in chapters, so I'm publishing a new work under the title "White horse".

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29653887

**Author's Note:**

> A comment Is more than welcomed


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